Nicole Morel
by Julie.fjad
Summary: A writer of short stories is asked to help in a new serial killer case. This writer is an old friend of Hannibal's and knows what he is hiding, just like he knows she has something to hide, too.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

If you have suggestions (about future scenes, character development, spelling, etc.), I'd really like you to say so in the reviews; it would help a lot. Thank you. ^^

The pairings aren't the centre of attention in this story, but for those who like a warning: Alana/Hannibal (like in the show) and OC/OC are alluded to. I really hope to include future Clarice/Hannibal, if the show goes that way, and if this story lasts to that point (since I've not written the entire outline yet – I'm waiting to see what season 3 will bring).

I attempt to follow the show's storyline in an implicit manner. By this I mean some things will be mentioned and the general storyline will be followed, but some people might be not or barely mentioned and the different cases with which the team deals will most likely not be mentioned, since the main focus is the OC.

Though I suppose this fandom doesn't really need it, since it's already quite obvious: I warn you that there's blood/gore/aggression/… in this.

Enjoy reading!

-Julie

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter I<strong>

Nicole likes to move around often. Not only to see new things and to experience the excitement that comes with moving to a new and unknown city, but also to keep potential threats off her trail, since she has a fair amount of enemies. Considering she didn't yet spend an extended period of time in the United States, she decides America will be her next destination. A couple of years ago she met a woman there, when she was in the States for her job. The woman, a psychologist, struck her as intriguing and different; exactly the type of person Nicole likes to associate with. Over the two weeks Nicole spent in Baltimore, they met up a few times to talk and they soon became very good friends. They have been keeping contact ever since. They regularly write to each other, they call, or, if they have the time, they visit each other – the latter doesn't happen often, though, since they are both busy and the distance between America and Europe isn't small.

"Doctor Bedelia du Maurier speaking, how may I help you?"

"Good afternoon, Bedelia."

"Nicole! Good afternoon to you as well. How are you?"

"I'm good, how about you?"

"I'm okay. So tell me, why are you calling in the middle of the week?"

Indeed, usually they call each other during the weekends, since they have more time to talk then.

"Because I've got good news and a question."

"Alright, I'm listening?"

"First of all, I'm coming to Baltimore."

"For work, or?"

"Because I want a change of scenery, so I'm staying longer than a week or two, this time."

"That's very good news, indeed. I take it you have yet to find a place to stay?"

"That's exactly what my question is about: I'd like to visit any potential homes I'll rent or buy, and to do that I have to be in Baltimore. So my question is whether you still have a free room?"

"Of course I do. You know my door is always open to you, Nicole."

"Thank you. I'll arrive the day after tomorrow, is that alright?"

"It is. Don't worry about it, Nicole, I'm happy to hear you'll be staying a while."

"It has been too long, hasn't it?"

"Indeed it has. Will you need a lift from the airport?"

"I won't, thank you though."

"I'm sorry I can't talk any longer, but I really have to go now; a client will soon arrive."

"A client? I thought you no longer practised?"

"I don't, but this one is an exception, a special case, if you will."

"Aha, alright then, I won't keep you any longer. I'll see you soon."

"Yes, see you soon. Bye Nicole, have a safe trip."

"Thank you, Bedelia."

Once Nicole arrives, they spend a lot of time catching up as well as looking for houses and flats together. They enjoy the time, for once not limited by a date on which one of them has to return home.

One morning, Bedelia comes into the kitchen where Nicole is preparing breakfast. A paper is in her hands and a frown is on her face. "Nicole, you might want to look at this. A new serial killer is roaming the streets of Baltimore. You haven't started again, have you?"

Nicole frowns, taking the pan off the fire before stepping towards her friend to see the article. "Of course I haven't; I haven't been out without you since I arrived."

She looks at the article, quickly scanning the words with her eyes. "Besides," she adds, "You know that isn't the way I work; this one's an artist who wants attention. Though—Wait. May I?"

She takes the paper from Bedelia, who observes her closely, and reads the article again; thoroughly, this time. She recognises the scene. "This is my short story," she states, "as are the two previous murders by this killer, it seems."

"Exactly," Bedelia nods, "Which is why I thought it was you. It appears to be an avid fan, however."

"Indeed it does. I don't write stories to later play them out – you know that."

"I do. I struck me as odd, that is all. Especially with your past. But forget I ever mentioned it."

Nicole nods and walks into the living room, in search of her laptop. She returns to the kitchen, sits down at the kitchen table and puts the computer before her. Online she finds some crime scene pictures, taken without permission by a F. Lounds. She is intrigued by the scenes which, from what she can see, are a perfect copy of her imagination when she wrote her story.

"You are fascinated," Bedelia breaks her thoughts.

When she looks up, she notices Bedelia has sat down facing her and put both plates, along with two cups of coffee, on the table. The woman is observing her closely again.

"I am. Is that a crime?"

"It isn't, but I know you, be careful."

"I'm always careful."

"I hope so," Bedelia smiles slightly.

_Approximately two years after they first met, Bedelia decided to come to Avignon, France, to visit Nicole. She already knew Nicole's father had been a businessman of sorts and that upon his death Nicole had taken over his work. She didn't know the details of this work, however._

_After they arrived in the two-storey house Nicole was currently staying in, and Bedelia had put her bags in the guestroom, they walked around the town for most of the day, since the weather was beautiful. After their walk they returned to her home for a drink. _

_In the evening, they headed out again. Nicole had booked a table at a beautiful little café for dinner and indeed, as promised, the food was very good. Afterwards, they walked back to Nicole's home, which took about fifteen minutes on foot. The streets were still quite crowded on this pleasantly warm summer's evening. They enjoyed the atmosphere and Nicole was explaining to Bedelia how she had discovered the small café they had just dined at, when she suddenly stopped talking halfway into a sentence. Bedelia followed her eyes, which were focused on a dark alley to their left._

"_Nicole? What is it?" Bedelia asked, following her friend as she stepped quickly towards the alley._

_Nicole had just seen a man tug a crying girl into the small street and she guessed what was going on. She was so focused on her target, she forgot about Bedelia, who followed her closely. _

_Inside the alley, she heard the crying child, the girl was begging and telling him 'no'. A man's voice told her several times to shut up. Once her eyes had adapted to the dark, Nicole saw what she had hoped she was wrong about. Quick steps led her to them and roughly she tugged the man off. The girl crumbled to the ground, shivering and crying. She vaguely heard Bedelia's gasp and was distantly aware of her friend trying to calm the girl. Her attention was entirely on the man, who looked quite angry because of the interruption._

"_What," he spit out, "you want me to take you instead, pretty girl?" His lecherous gaze travelled over her body until she grabbed his throat and slammed him to the wall. _

"_I don't think so," she hissed, beyond furious._

_His eyes widened, his fingers clawed at the hand around his neck, he choked out unintelligible words, his eyes started to water. _

_She calmly took one of his hands and, without moving her eyes from his, without blinking, she broke the first finger. His cries were loud. People in the main street didn't hear thanks to the music being played. _

"_Nicole!" Bedelia called out, surprise and slight fear creeping in her voice. _

_She ignored her and broke the next finger, and the next,…. She was about to move to the next hand when someone pulled her off. The man crumbled to the ground, cradling his hand and attempting to get away._

_Nicole threw off the hand on her shoulder and quickly grabbed the man again before he could get away. She continued breaking the rest of his fingers, as calmly as before. Vaguely aware of Bedelia's eyes on her. The woman didn't try to stop her again._

_She took a Swiss knife out of her jacket pocket and slipped out the sharp knife. She opened his pants and slit once straight through his manhood. She then stood and stepped back, swiping off the bits of blood on her face. The man remained there, whimpering as he attempted to stem the bleeding by pressing his broken hand to his crotch. He bled out._

_Her clothes were black, so she didn't have to worry about odd looks, she mused as she turned back to the woman and the girl behind her. The girl was probably no older than ten or eleven. Bedelia held her, keeping the innocent's face turned away from the gruesome scene. Her eyes were alert and cautious as she closely observed Nicole. When Nicole stepped towards her, she scrambled back, dragging the child along. _

"_I won't hurt you, Bedelia," Nicole told her calmly, "nor her."_

_The woman didn't reply._

"_Please, stand and come with me, before someone stumbles in here."_

_Still, no reaction. Nicole decided she had no other option. _

"_If you don't come with me, I will kill both of you, so that this scene will have no witnesses. I mean it."_

_Bedelia nodded slowly, "Let me return her to her parents."_

"_Yes, but only if she won't tell on me."_

"_Of course," Bedelia replied, her voice remarkably calm. She turned to the girl, taking her face in her hands, "Do you know where your parents are?"_

_The teary-eyed girl nodded, sniffing._

"_Then, do you promise me you will return to them and never tell anyone about me and the other woman here?"_

_The frightened girl tried to turn her head to the man, but Bedelia stopped her. "No, sweetie, don't look. That man will never, ever hurt you again, alright? I promise you." She waited for the girl to nod before continuing, "Then do you promise not to tell about us?"_

_Once more, the girl nodded._

_Bedelia gave her a small smile, "Good girl. Now quickly, run back to your parents and give them a big hug. Don't look back. Go, now."_

_The girl turned and ran._

_Bedelia stood slowly, lightly raising her hands, "What now?"_

"_Now you come with me. I'll explain everything. I swear I'll only hurt you if you give me reason to."_

"_I am a witness to your crime, so you have a reason."_

"_I want to explain it to you, after which I hope you won't tell anyone about this. You know what awaits you if you do tell anyone."_

_Bedelia nodded._

_Upon their return to Nicole's home, Nicole started to explain everything about her father's business as well as hers. About how he helped get those he deemed innocent out of prison; like the ones who had a, in his opinion, legitimate reason for the murder they committed. And about how she tracked down those who evaded the law after committing, in her opinion, atrocious crimes, such as child molesters, serial killers without a, according to her, 'good' motive, etc. After her father's death, she combined her and her father's jobs. She had never really known her mother, as she had been killed when Nicole was only two years old, by enemies of her father. _

_Bedelia promised never to tell on her and understood now what Nicole meant when she said she wouldn't kill her without good reason. _

_It took time, but as Bedelia followed Nicole's actions over the years, their friendship mended, though it was never the same as before._

[To be continued]


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter II**

When she is called by an F.B.I. Agent – Jack Crawford, he introduces himself – and asked to come by the bureau in the morning, she isn't surprised. Undoubtedly they found her stories and noticed the similarities to the recent murders. Upon hearing of this, Bedelia implores her to act normally when they'll ask her about the case.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Nicole questions.

"You know very well what I mean. They will be suspicious if you are fascinated instead of horrified upon hearing a murderer uses you short stories as inspiration. Usually people are disgusted by murder. Try to act that way as well."

"You speak as though I have something to hide."

Bedelia shoots her an admonishing look, like one a mother shoots her naughty child. "I just want you to know that there are people who work in the behavioural sciences department who can read you quite easily if you aren't careful. And once they suspect you of something, that suspicion won't go away."

"You know more than you are letting on. I didn't know you knew people from the F.B.I."

"I didn't, until recently."

"Hm. Well, I'll question you later about that interesting bit of information, otherwise I'll be late."

She arrives at the bureau at nine sharp. A young agent shows her where Crawford is waiting for her. The door to the Agent's office is open – she knocks to draw the attention of the two men who are seated at a desk, facing each other. One of them is older than the other. The younger man stands quickly when he sees that they have company, says a short "Bye." to the other man, and swiftly walks by her, leaving the room. Not once did he properly look up or greet her, his gaze was focused on the floor. She thinks his manner odd, but supposes the man must be very shy.

"Good morning," the older man greets her, standing and extending his hand, "You must be Ms. Morel. I'm Jack Crawford, I'm the one who called you."

"Good morning, Agent Crawford," she replies, as she shakes his hand, "I'm indeed Nicole Morel. What did you want to speak to me about?"

He indicates she should sit on one of the two seats in front of his desk and sits back down as well. "You might have heard of the serial killer that has been at large around here, lately?"

"Indeed I have," she nods, a neutral expression on her face.

"I'm sure you also noticed a striking similarity to the stories you write, then?"

"Yes."

"Then you'll understand I have to ask you where you were on these dates and times?"

He hands her a list, on which the estimated times of death are noted. She looks them over quickly and hands it back.

"Each time I was with a good friend. She'll confirm it if you call her, I'm sure."

He watches her with a severe frown for a few moments, "Alright. The name of this friend?"

"Bedelia du Maurier."

His eyes widen in surprise and recognition, which reminds her of Bedelia's words that she knows people in this department.

"Doctor du Maurier? The psychologist?"

"The very same," she nods in affirmation, "We've been close friends for years and I'm currently staying with her, until I find a place to stay here."

"So you moved recently?"

"Yes, from Europe. But to return to the case, would you like my help in this investigation?"

"I'll first have to confirm your alibi, of course."

"Of course."

"But I suppose you could be a great help in this, yes. If you'll excuse me a minute, I'll call her now. As you might suspect, this case is rather urgent."

She nods and watches as he dials Bedelia's number. Soon, he has his confirmation and he turns his attention back to Nicole.

"You know you are not allowed to speak of this case to anyone but those involved?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. I will soon introduce you to the other members of our team. But first, I noticed a few of those stories you wrote aren't in English. Would you mind translating them, as literally and true to the original as possible, so all members of the team can read them?"

"Of course. I'll start right away. Anything else?"

"No, that'll be all for now. If you have any questions, you can reach me on this number," he hands her a card, "and I'll call you if there are new developments."

Back at Bedelia's house, she explains what Crawford told her and that she will help in the investigation. Cautiously Bedelia nods, not saying much. When Nicole asks her about the people she knows, she replies that it'll become clear soon enough. Amusement shows in her eyes when she notices Nicole's frustration about the useless secrecy.

Nicole sits down before her computer and starts translating the pieces that aren't in English, as Crawford asked. She is soon immersed in the worlds of horror she conjured when she wrote the stories down.

"We've found a new body," Crawford tells her over the phone one morning, nearly a week after she first met him, "I'll text you where it is. Come as soon as possible."

"Okay, see you soon," she replies before hanging up.

Bedelia curiously looks up from her book.

"They've found another victim. I'm invited," she smiles at her own expression.

"Try not to look too intrigued, then," Bedelia replies calmly, returning to her book.

"Ha-ha," Nicole smirks, as she puts on her jacket and takes the keys to the car she recently bought.

The ride isn't long and soon she arrives at the scene of the crime. Multiple police cars as well as regular ones stand near the field, which is covered in high grass – she has a feeling that at one place in the middle, where the investigators stand, it is no longer naturally coloured but crimson. She breathes in deeply before walking to the scene, which is surrounded by Crawford and his team. She is stopped by an officer, telling her she can go no further. Next to her, a woman with red, curly hair smirks smugly at her – seeing the woman's camera, Nicole guesses she is a reporter. She ignores her.

"I'm with Agent Crawford," she tells the officer, "Call him over if you don't believe me."

He doesn't have to call out to the investigator, for he has already seen her and waves her over, after calling out to the officer to let her pass. Before the reporter can question her about her involvement, Nicole slips under the yellow line and steps up to where most of the blood has been spilt. Two men and a woman are taking samples, as Crawford greets her, "Good morning," to which she nods in reply and he continues, "I suppose you recognise this?"

The victim lays on his back next to the remains of some stone walls, she now sees; the high grass obscures the low walls when one is looking from afar. Immediately, a title enters her mind, _A Castle Ruin_.

"His neck is broken. The other injuries happened post mortem," Crawford explains the findings of his team.

She nods, "Well, the other injuries were not described in my story; the boy died by falling down backwards, breaking his neck. This is actually one of my least bloody stories – it's a ghost story. The other injuries might be part of another text," she muses, "they might be a hint as to which one the killer will enact next."

"Yes, that's what I thought too," Crawford agrees.

"May I look around?" She asks, "I will take care not to erase evidence."

"Yes, of course," Crawford waves his hand in the direction of the scene. By now, the two men and the woman have finished their forensic search, so she can move freely. The men have returned to their car, the woman, however, lingers and nods to Nicole, "Hi, I'm Beverly Katz, you can call me Beverly. You are the author, I take it?"  
>Nicole returns the woman's smile, "Yes, that's me, I'm Nicole Morel. Nice to meet you, Beverly."<br>"Nice to meet you too. I'll see you later," she says, before turning to Crawford and leaving Nicole by the scene.

Carefully, she steps around the body, avoiding the spread out blood. She is reminded of one of her other stories, in which someone is killed and the killer uses the victim's blood to make a 'drawing' around the body. Here, however, it looks like the drawing isn't finished, or like it failed. She sits on her haunches to observe the wounds from a closer distance. Some of them are the same as in the 'drawing-story' – slits made with a knife at precise places in the skin –, some seem to have been made to let the blood flow out quicker, as though the killer didn't have the patience to wait and meticulously spread the blood into a work of art. Because of these extra wounds, too much blood came out at once, so he couldn't properly make the drawing, not to mention the inconvenient place the body is laying. It's like he attempted to practise his next murder – if so, his next kill will be by using someone's blood to make art, which she now strongly suspects. If her suspicion is correct, the next body will be found indoors, on an even surface, preferably in an empty, sterile room with two doors.

She vaguely hears Crawford speaking to someone, though she doesn't listen to what they are saying exactly, and the voice that replies is one she recognises, she notes with surprise. Upon looking up, however, her view is blocked by the same man that quickly left Crawford's office when she first arrived there, a few days ago. He looks tired and weary as he thoroughly observes the scene. She is about to greet him, when Crawford's voice calls out to her, "Ms. Morel, come over here, please."

She raises and steps around the unknown man before her. Once again, he doesn't acknowledge her. She frowns in thought, wondering why he is so distanced from the world around him. Her frown immediately disappears when she sees the owner of the familiar voice. He looks at her with surprise, though it's nearly imperceptible.

"Ms. Morel, Doctor Hannibal Lecter. He helps us with investigations and is Will's therapist. Will Graham is the man who is standing near the victim, right now, he's an… advisor of sorts. Doctor Lecter, this the author I spoke of, earlier," Crawford introduces them.

She smiles, not even looking at Crawford, "Hello, Hannibal."

He nods, also slightly smiling, "Nicole."

Crawford's surprise isn't as hidden as Hannibal's, "You know each other?"

Nicole replies, "Yes, though we haven't seen each other in a while." She shoots one more knowing smirk to Hannibal before turning to Crawford to explain what she found.

Very smart of him to stay close to the F.B.I.: this way he knows all the inside information, and considering he is Graham's therapist, he probably also leads them all, via Graham, to believe he isn't guilty, should they ever suspect anything. Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer, as they say.

[To be continued]


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter III**

_She accompanied her father to the opera, part because they wanted to see tonight's performance, but mostly because her father would meet a client that night. Those days she was the one to do the 'jobs', since her father was struggling with his health and therefor often didn't have the energy a fight requires. She had been introduced in his business years ago and helped him. Today her father's asthma was playing up again and she had told him to postpone this meeting, as it would not be good for a client to see him vulnerable; he declined her offer to move it to another date._

_The two men, the ones to meet her father tonight, didn't know who she was and leered at her when they sat down at her father's other side. Papers and envelopes switched hands and everything seemed to go well, until her father's breathing declined. He said he would be back in a minute, that she didn't need to follow him, and went outside. He didn't see that one of the two men followed him, she did. She became worried when he didn't return after approximately five minutes, especially since that man had followed him. She got up and went to search for him. People were still entering and the opera would only start in about ten minutes, so she had time. _

_She went outside and looked around the sidewalk but didn't see her father. She noticed that to her right, around the corner, there was a small, rather dark, street and quickly walked there, looking if he was there. When she saw the man who had followed her father pushing the other into the wall, she ran up to them until she was a few meters away. She now noticed the gun that was being held to her father's head. _

"_Hey," she called out to the armed man._

_He turned slowly to her, not lowering the gun, and smiled eerily upon seeing who had interrupted him, "Well, hello sweetheart." _

"_Let him go," she ordered._

_His smile widened, "But of course."_

_She flinched when she heard the unexpected shot that went through her father's shoulder. He slid down the wall, dark blood changing his shirt's colour. The man advanced, leering at her form in the evening dress, and put the gun in his waistband at his back. She beckoned him closer with a false, sweet smile. When he was near enough, her fist hit his jaw hard. He was temporarily disoriented, before turning back to her. She was ready for him and hit him with her other fist. Blood began running down from the corner of his mouth. He growled in anger, but before he could retaliate, she swung up her foot – thankful for the split in her dress –, hitting him in the gut. He doubled over in pain and started fumbling at his back, trying to find the gun. He didn't find it soon enough, for she quickly hit him in the side of the head with her foot, knocking him out. As he fell, the gun tumbled out of his pants. She kicked it out of reach and kneeled next to his form. She snapped his neck with her bare hands. _

_Behind her, she recognised the second man's voice, "Shit! You bitch!"_

_He stalked towards her and she stood, readying herself for another fight. Before she could attack him, however, his advancement was stopped by a strong hand on his throat, belonging to a man she couldn't see who stood behind him. A voice she didn't know, one with a peculiar accent, told him, "Now, now, that is no way to speak to a lady, is it?"_

_The hand was replaced by a sharp, curved knife and the voice spoke again, "Now," he ordered, "Step forward until you reach your friend's body."_

_The threatened man obeyed, stepping slowly. She noticed his wide, frightened eyes. The two of them came closer until they stood before her, the corpse laying between them. Surprised by all this, she forgot her father for a moment. She also wasn't sure whether the man with the knife posed a threat to her and thus she didn't move, observing the scene closely. _

"_Very good," the man with the peculiar accent told the other, a strong mocking tone in his voice. _

_She watched as the knife ruthlessly slit the man's throat. He fell, his blood flowing profusely, on top of the corpse, and revealed the man with the odd accent. Her eyes were immediately pulled to his strange maroon ones. _

"_Thank you," she said, wearily watching him. His eyes observed her attentively, as though noting her non-existent reaction to the brutal murder. _

_She decided he wasn't a threat to her, and rushed to her father's body, which was weakening as it lay still near the wall. She peeled away the black jacket and revealed the formerly white shirt beneath it. With her hands, she attempted to stem the blood flow, since she didn't have anything else to use. She barely registered the man crouching next to her until he spoke to her: "Let me," he offered. _

_He took out a large handkerchief. She removed her frantic hands and watched as he made a tight knot with the fabric around her father's shoulder, stemming the profuse flow._

"_Thank you, again," she sincerely told him. He merely nodded, watching her curiously. She continued, "You wouldn't mind helping me get him to our car, would you? I can't carry him on my own and we can't stay here."_

"_Of course," he replied, putting his hands around her father's shoulders and behind his knees, taking him off the ground. _

_It was dark out, thankfully, and the streets were nearly empty because of the cold weather. She led him to the black Toyota and opened the door to the backseat, after taking the keys out of her father's pocket and unlocking the vehicle. The man laid him down and closed the door. _

"_You will stay silent about my actions as I will about yours?" she questioned._

"_Indeed. Though I wonder about your identity."_

"_I wonder about the same thing," she replied with a smile. She stuck out her hand, "Nicole Morel."_

_He took her hand, "Doctor Hannibal Lecter," he said with a nod. _

_Her eyes widened, "Doctor? You have medical training?" He affirmed with a nod. She thought it over for a second, then asked, "You helped me a lot already, but, if it isn't a bother, would you help me treat his wound?"_

_She didn't like letting strangers into their life, but she had seen him kill a man in cold blood, and he had obviously seen her do the same. Besides, she wasn't good at treating wounds like the one her father had right now, and she couldn't go to the hospital, for they would ask too many questions. To her relief he replied, "It isn't a bother. Do you have the necessary materials?"_

_She shook her head, "I don't think so, you do?"_

"_Yes, at my home."_

"_We'll drive there, then, before going to my house."_

_He agreed. They both stepped into the car and drove away. As she was driving, she was thinking about what implications tonight's actions would involve – they might have to move to another city, for instance. Her first priority was her father's health, however, so she just focused on that for the moment, deciding she would think about the rest tomorrow. _

_After treating her father, Doctor Lecter left her his phone number and she gave hers. They decided to keep each other aware if the police would come onto one or both of their traces._

_Her father healed well, only a slight scar indicated he had been shot. Doctor Lecter regularly came by their house, often after being invited by Nicole, and he properly met her father when he finally woke from his unconsciousness after being shot. Her father didn't like to have someone else know about their secret, but after actually meeting Doctor Lecter, he admitted the man didn't seem like someone who would betray them. The doctor was glad to be invited, since he was interested in Nicole's insensitivity to violence and murder. _

"_I take it you have questions?"_

"_I do wonder why you did not call the police, like a woman normally would."_

"_I have always been taught not to trust the authorities."_

"_Why is that?"_

"_Because my father and I would be imprisoned, if they knew who we are and what we do." She hesitated to continue._

"_You can trust me," Doctor Lecter told her, "You know I kill as well."_

"_That's true," she smiled lightly. "For as long as I remember, my father has helped imprisoned people escape, when he judged they did not deserve it. If they, for instance, killed someone to avenge a loved one, and they were imprisoned for that, my father helps them out. He has taught me everything he knows and ever since I was old enough, I have helped him. He deals with criminals on a daily basis, because they have useful skills when it comes to breaking someone out of prison or tracing someone down. Unfortunately, like you saw last night, they aren't to be trusted."_

_Luckily, they didn't have to move after all. The police wrote it off as a robbery, as they got stuck on the lack of evidence and Nicole had had the forethought to empty the killed men's pockets before leaving the bloody scene. She also guessed they stopped the investigation because the two 'victims' were known criminals and had gotten away with their crimes before. _

_Nicole's father's health continued to decline and, eventually, upon insistence from Doctor Lecter, they went to see a practising doctor, who sent them to a radiologist. Soon after, Doctor Lecter's suspicion that something worse than asthma was going on was confirmed, as Nicole's father was diagnosed with lung cancer. It was too late; incurable. He died two months later._

_Nicole cried once, right after finding her father's body. She didn't shed a tear at the funeral, nor after. Hannibal didn't leave her side. The days and weeks after the funeral, Nicole had to focus on her father's business and completely take over, which wasn't very hard, for the man had prepared her well. _

_She was regularly invited to Hannibal's home for dinner, since he noticed she often forgot to eat, because of all the work she had to do. He let her help in the kitchen as they talked. It was about three months after the funeral, when she began to notice something. She spoke to Hannibal about it, one night, as they were preparing their meal._

_She stopped slicing the onion and raised her head, "Hannibal?"_

_"Yes, Nicole?" He didn't look up, continuing to mix his sauce._

_"What are we eating tonight; what kind of meat, what part of the body, I mean."_

_He didn't seem to think much about her question and casually replied, "Liver."_

_"Liver is the part of the body that went missing, at your latest murder," she remarked, watching his reaction. _

_He didn't react more than to say, "Indeed." _

_So she continued, "Just like the lung we had last week went missing and just like the leg that was cut off the week before."_

_He finally looked up. Her expression wasn't accusing, merely curious. "Yes," he simply said, watching her closely._

_"So tell me," she went on, "how do you prepare meat that supposedly has a strong pork's meat taste, to make it seem like it is veal, or anything else?"_

_He was surprised, she noticed, though he hid it soon. She guessed he was waiting for her to be disgusted and run away screaming, but she wasn't and she didn't. She knew it should indeed be revolting to her, but her rational mind won over her feelings: she reasoned that humans were animals too, and thus edible, and the only reason it was looked down upon, was because it encouraged murder, which went against the survival instinct. But she, too, thought some people didn't deserve to be alive after the things they did – she killed criminals who got away, after all – so why not use their useless meat?_

_"You are not disgusted," he observed, intrigued. _

_In response, she explained her reasoning to him, to which he replied he had the same opinion._

[To be continued]


End file.
